


Summer Work

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Joanlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan and Sherlock undercover at a stakeout at the beach. Fluffy joanlock silliness just because.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cool breeze that sent her hair streaming behind her was a welcome relief from the mid-day heat. Joan took in a long breath of the fresh salt-tinged air and laid back. The warm sand beneath her beach towel crunched softly and yielded to the curves of her bikini clad body. She closed her eyes and relaxed. Children's laughter and adults' conversations folded themselves into the rhythmic shushes of the waves. This was without a doubt the best stake-out she had ever participated in. 

The smell of sunscreen and coconut oil mixed with random samplings of the beach-goers lunches wafted around him. He was getting hungry. Propped up on his elbows, Sherlock, in baggy, deep blue swim trunks, lay on his back beside his partner. His dark sunglasses masked the to and fro of his eyes as he sought out their suspect amid the crowd at Jones Beach. Further up the shore, near the lifeguard tower, he knew Detective Bell was similarly keeping vigil. Watson, having never seen the man, was allowed the luxury of rest.

 

Joan felt Sherlock's fingertip touch her arm, tapping lightly to get her attention. She opened her eyes. He lay on his side, body twisted towards hers. "Pardon me, Watson. But ..." his face twisted into a semi-apologetic grimace. And with that warning, his head slowly dropped to her bare shoulder. His lips met her skin with a gentle lingering kiss. After allowing a brief moment to acclimate to the sensations, his mouth proceeded towards her neck placing a warm open mouthed kiss there on its arrival. Joan's hand moved to him, caressing and stroking his hair where it tapered onto his neck. Her head tilted, her cheek covered his face.

"He saw you?" she whispered.

His lips were at her ear, "Mmm hmmm. Not sure he recognized me though." He burrowed deeper into her neck. 

Joan stopped the satisfied sound that threatened to slip from her lips and protectively moved her arm around his shoulders. Last night, they had coldly and rationally discussed the possibility of the need for the pretense of intimate touch as a means of keeping their surveillance undercover. 

This, however, did not feel like pretense to either of them. She had expected a certain amount of awkwardness and stiffness on both their parts should the need for contact arise. That was not the case. If anything, it felt too natural, too quickly, and the risk of losing focus on their suspect came to the forefront. 

Sherlock adjusted his body. He raised his head, scanned the surroundings and hovered over her for a second before his head dipped once more towards her exposed skin. His lips found the hollow of her throat and placed small worshipful kisses there before making their way up.

He moved sideways across her jawline toward her ear, "He's walking this way." Sherlock's body now came into full contact with hers. Joan's leg bent and pushed against his side with an involuntary murmur of pleasure at the touch. Her hands caressed his back. 

Joan moved her head and caught his lips with hers. A gentle kiss and he pressed in with more vigor. Soon they were engaged to an extent that had their suspect walked up and confessed his crimes to them they would not have noticed. Sherlock later rationalized this not as an act of unprofessionalism, but as an intuitive action which they sensed would be the best way to hide in plain sight - their lack of interest in the suspect made the man less suspicious and he passed them by.

The phone by Joan's head chimed. Reluctantly, they pulled away from each other and looked towards the offending object. It lit up with a message from Bell, "Anything yet?" Sherlock looked around and saw the backside of the suspect as he walked towards the shore. Joan handed him the phone and he sat up to text. "Walking westerly towards you. Pink shorts, paper bag in left hand." He hit send. 

Joan raised herself on her elbows squinting into the crowd. "That's him? Doesn't look very threatening."

"No, but he is the man Marcus and I saw." Sherlock looked back at her unable to stop himself from scanning the relaxed pose of her body, her easy grace. He reached out with one finger and stroked the top of her hand. "Thank you for allowing me ..." A small commotion drew his attention away from her and up towards the shoreline. 

Joan sat up beside him and feeling brave from their recent encounter, rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand smoothed at his back. They watched as Marcus and his partner confronted the man, detained him, and eventually handcuffed the suspect.

"I suppose we'd best go see if we can be of assistance." Sherlock began to rise.

Joan stopped him, "Do you think we could come down here tomorrow? Just for us?" Her dark eyes communicated all he needed and wanted to know.

"Of course. I'll pack us a good lunch and we can make a day of it." He tried his best to sound practical and unaffected. "Maybe bring a few cold cases to work on, hmm?"

In response, Joan gave his bicep a squeeze with a smile that left him slightly breathless.

"Holmes!" Detective Bell called out behind him. It took Sherlock a beat to turn around and focus his thoughts back onto police business.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started writing a little end piece to this fic for myself and things got out of hand ... It's fluffy fluff.

Unbidden, the memory and sensation of his lips on her neck, came and caused an uncontrollable physical reaction: a small expansion of her being that left her for a split second blind and deaf to anything but the memory. She gripped the car's armrest and strove to regain composure. She hadn't experienced one of those too real flashbacks to physical moments in years. She tensed wondering if he had noticed.

"Alright, Watson?," his voice was soft and nasally. He cut his eyes from the road ahead of him to give her a quick glance. 

"Yup." She answered perhaps a bit too quickly. "You?"

"Good, I'm good." He continued driving in silence.

The last thing Joan wanted was for him to realize the effect just the simple kisses they exchanged had had on her. Foolish - it was just pretense, or meant to be pretense. She took another deep breath as she tried to sort through her feelings. She was not a teenager, she knew how to control herself...

Sherlock took note of her breathing, muscle tenseness, lack of visual focus and wondered if he had perhaps upset her. He had not meant to get as physical as he did as quickly as he did. For all its power, he knew the brain was vulnerable to short-circuiting, especially by those damn emotions that kept bubbling up no matter how much he negated their existence. He thought he had better control than most but all he could think about even now while chiding himself was the perfection of her neck, a secret place of solace and beauty, home, the essence of her still filled his nostrils...

"Sherlock?" the voice was faint and called to him. "Sherlock?" she repeated and snapped him back to place. 

"Hmm?" he tried to sound casual and nonchalant.

Joan watched him and wondered if he was regretting the events of the day. "I thought we were going into the City, to the precinct. You just turned for home."

"Did I? Sorry. I was mentally reviewing some casework." He steered them towards the next exist.

She watched him, it was unlike him to be unmindful when driving. They drove on in silence, each tensely aware of their own tells while watching the other for theirs. Being detectives had drawbacks. 

The rest of the day and part of the night they spent at the precinct, separately for the most part, interrogating, reviewing and eventually closing the case. Too busy to think about the events of the day, the time went quickly. Exhausted by the time they got home, Sherlock dropped onto the sofa and Joan made her way upstairs. 

 

Morning light greeted Joan. She sat up and stretched half-expecting to find a breakfast tray waiting for her. A little disappointed, she yawned and made her way downstairs towards the kitchen and coffee. 

Sherlock stood at the table, full of energy, "Good morning, Watson." He zipped up the soft cooler bag, "I've made peanut butter and honey sandwiches and turkey and cheese sandwiches. Also packed hummus, cheese, fruit." He patted the cooler and looked at her expectantly. "Too much? Not enough?"

She looked momentarily confused, and then a strange little trill of excitement rushed through her, "We're going?"

"I cleared the day. You said yesterday you wanted to...." All of a sudden he felt unsure. Maybe she changed her mind or he misunderstood. "I mean we don't have to go to the beach or anywhere ... I just thought ..."

Joan jumped in, "No ... Yes ... I mean..." She tried her best to conceal her emotions, speaking casually and rather monotone. "I thought we'd have work or you wouldn't want to. Yes. I want to ....Let's go."

Sherlock watched her, his brow lifted with relief and produced a crooked smile, "Well, go on then. Get your breakfast." He motioned towards the counter at the coffee and muffins waiting for her. "We leave in half an hour." 

The side-eyed look he received from her as she passed by made the day already worthwhile. 

 

Being mid morning on a Monday, the beach was not nearly as crowded as the day before. Joan and Sherlock scouted for a spot close to the water but away from others and finally claimed their sandy territory with towels, umbrella and coolers (and Sherlock's folder of files to work on). 

Squinting towards the water, Sherlock removed his tshirt turning just in time to catch Joan with her back to him, doing the same. His eyes slowly traveled up her as the tshirt lifted up and off, revealing her black bikini adorned body. 

She caught him staring and he quickly covered, "Can you swim?" His voice was all business, almost a challenge.

"Of course, " Joan scoffed at his question. "High school swim team. You?"

"I never participated in school sports but yeah, I can swim." He grimaced an affirmative. "Shall we?" He didn't wait for her answer and started walking towards the water. Joan now took her opportunity to watch him. He wore different trunks today, not as baggy as yesterday; they hugged his rear just a little tighter. 

Sherlock called over his shoulder, "You coming?" Joan startled, responded by walking quickly and then running, passing him and splashing into the cold Atlantic water.

Ever competitive, he ran in after her and started swimming. 

"See that clump of seaweed out there?" She pointed into the distance. "First one there wins."

He replied with a quick, "Ready, set, go!"

Soon they were racing side by side trying to beat each other and maintain a lead. Three- fourths of the way there, Joan dove underwater and Sherlock, losing sight of her, stopped and searched for signs of her. She seemed like a strong swimmer but one never knew.

Joan erupted from the depths in front of him, water dripping from her face and hair, she bent back into the water to get her dark tangles smoothed sleekly back and came forward smiling at him.

Sherlock looked on admiringly as droplets made their way down her cheeks, marked how the sun highlighted the splash of freckles on her nose, noted how her eyelashes dark and wet framed her eyes... He was momentarily mesmerized by her, when a more practical observation came to the forefront, "You treading water?"

"Uh huh. Just a little shorter than you." Her chin dunked under the water.

"Here," he reached out for her and took her by the waist; she placed her hands on his shoulder for support. Not breaking eye-contact, he brought her closer until she was almost up against him. She adjusted her arms and placed them around his neck.

Joan felt herself drawn deep into his eyes, large and somehow changed to match the color of the sea around them. He gazed at her in almost childlike wonder and she felt as if she could walk into his soul. 

The sounds from the shore faded away, the cold sea water swayed and lapped gently at their bodies and they held on tight to each other.... waiting ... waiting for the moment. They moved closer; Sherlock brought her flat up against him. Their foreheads met, noses rubbed, and eyes half closed as they exchanged a small and salty kiss. His hands moved to better hold her up, her legs instinctively curled around his for support and the moment came. Lips parted and met, fingers enmeshed in hair, flesh pressed into flesh - they were quickly lost in the swirl of physical and very pleasurable sensations. 

Boundaries melted away. No longer Watson and Holmes, no longer Joan and Sherlock, they were two people who loved each other deeply, allowing themselves the freedom to express it. The crazed urgency of their embrace, the passion in their kiss surprised them both. Yesterday's kisses had been masked under guise of necessity for a bigger cause, today's were honest and raw and given fully aware of their meaning and fully accepted as such.

Only the need for breath separated their lips and when they did, the embrace only tightened. Cheek to cheek and hands to head, eyes closed, they breathed in the moment. 

Sherlock pulled his head back, suddenly needing to see her face, make sure she was alright, they were alright. His eyes met hers and the joy he saw spread a rare sense of contentment in him. Joan smiled at him, placing her forehead up to his, she whispered, "It's okay." 

Boisterous laughing and splashing from somewhere on their right intruded on their moment. A group of teenage boys were trying to out swim each other and hurling insults as to each others' abilities. 

One of the boys, in passing, called out to Joan and Sherlock, "Hey, get a room!" which set the other three off in to guffaws and kissing noises.

Sherlock held on to her a bit more protectively as they passed by. "You know, that's not a bad idea," he murmured to her.

Joan gave him a quick kiss and slipped off of him, "You know, I won right?" She swam away from him on her back.

He looked confused at her and dunked his shoulders in the water.

"The race to the seaweed, you stopped, I won," she taunted him and kept swimming.

"You most certainly did not!" He started splashing in her direction. "I stopped out of concern for your safety." Sherlock was catching up to her fast.

She turned on her side and swam faster towards shore, "Doesn't matter, you stopped, you ..." Her last words were lost as he reached her and amid splashes and giggles picked her up out the water.

"I'm sorry Watson, were you saying something?" He held her out from him, with the threat of dropping her present in his look.

"You wouldn't." Joan stared him down.

He stared at her seriously for a second and then brought her back to him, "You're right, I have other things in store for you ..." He dipped his head to hers and they once again were lost in each other.

Eventually, he set her down gently until she found her footing. She took his hand and they started walking back to shore.


End file.
